The Angel's Origin
by letthedreambeginphan
Summary: Set in the time before the events in Paris, we follow the story of Erik trying to reconnect with his long-lost friend. Gustave Daae.
1. Chapter 1

His knuckles were white from gripping to the bars of the port cullis as he watched them drift slowly away. Gravity wanted to pull his heart of lead to the floor but he knew that must hide. The mob were approaching quickly and there was no way for him to escape unless...

It was the only hidden tunnel he had never used. When he built the mechanism he had laughed at himself, it was more of an interesting challenge than anything that would ever be of any practical use.

And now it was his only salvation.

He heard footsteps clanging against metal...they were climbing down the port cullis. He was out of time.

Regretfully he let go of the veil that was clutched to his chest and saw it flutter, abandoned to the floor. He did not run to the throne...if he was caught, he was caught. Death seemed almost like the only friend he had ever had in this world and he realised how he started to welcome the thought of being taken out of it.

His survival instincts were too strong. He snatched up Don Juan's cloak and threw it over himself as he sat stiffly in the chair. A slight smile grazed his lips...he had thought himself such a genius when he designed the costume for Don Juan. The dark, hooded cloak allowed him to get on stage without being noticed by the stage hands, managers or _the boy_. Of course, he had not considered that Christine would reach up and feel the shape of his mask underneath the shroud. And that's when it all went wrong, in a moment of blind panic she had torn the hood from over his head and had revealed to the world that is was the dreaded Opera Ghost who was astounding them all with his mesmerising voice. He was struck dumb when the two of them reached the end of the song and she pulled his mask off his face. An early grand finale to a short lived masterpiece.

A flash of blonde hair snapped Erik back into his lair. The Giry girl was slowly approaching where he was now seated with the cloak covering his face. He did not think to harm her, she was one of the hardest working dancers in an otherwise useless corps de ballet, not to mention the fact that she was the only child of Madame Giry...well unless you counted Erik as a strange foster child. Even though Madame Giry could only have been 5 or 10 years older than Erik she cared for him like a son, he had been there the night her husband died and he had tried his best to save the man's life. However, there was nothing he could do and watched as Madame Giry- Anna- had cradled her dead husband in his arms. Guilt ridden, he allowed himself to drift away from the now widowed ballet mistress, feeling it was somehow his fault that she had lost the love of her life.

Ever since that tragic day she had dressed in black and her temper was somewhat colder, even with her own little daughter. That daughter was now tentatively reaching up to where he had hooked the cloak to the back of the thone and that's when he flipped the switch, which was concealed under one of the ornate arm rests. The back of the chair fell away and he tumbled through the gap, his skeletal frame easily disappearing into the dark chamber below. He had only a fraction of time, in which he noticed that he had been sitting on his mask...how funny. A week ago that mask was the only thing in the world that made him feel slightly more _human _and now he left it to the hands of the mob. A calling card of the opera ghost, it would be handed from company to company and used as a prop in the retelling of his- of their story.

He landed heavily on the stone floor; a clear sign that he did not think to ever put this exit into use. Erik went to lift himself up but found that his arms gave way beneath him. His exhaustion was not physical but emotional. The pain swelled from his stomach and lurched into his throat. His anger was at himself. She had been in the process of choosing to stay with him but instead he pushed her away. How stupid of him, after all she was everything he wanted and didn't he deserve her love after all the work he put into her voice and making sure she was noticed? No. He shook away any resentment he held toward her and knew that his love, however blackened by the betrayal of revealing him to the audience, was stronger than any thing he could ever feel. However, that did not stop the rage of burning self-hatred spill into his soul. If only he had introduced himself normally, if only he hadn't tormented her by letting her think that the angel of music had come to her. He knew how much that story had meant to Christine and how isolated she felt even though her father had died some years before. He had used it. Used her cherished memories of the time she had spent with her father to his own purposes. How did he know of these stories that were implanted in her head? His friend, Gustave, was their creator.


	2. Chapter 2

It was early spring, Erik had loved this secluded village because there were only a few elderly residents that inhabited it. If there was one thing about elderly people it's that experience has taught them to live and let live. He was never hounded in the streets and asked to take off his mask, if he was looked at in the street then it was a simple (if somewhat toothless) smile that greeted him.

The only other young person in the village was Gustave Daae and the two men had formed a close friendship. Gustave was a great violinist, even without any official training. Erik sometimes tried to offer him a word of advice but was always greeted with a fiery stare that told him not to try and interfere with Gustave's art.

"The way I see it, Erik." Gustave would start. "Is that imperfections in music are nothing to be ashamed of. Music is a creation of humanity and every human makes mistakes."

"My dear friend, in my eyes humanity is defined by our strive for perfection." Erik's response was not meant to offend but to tease.

"Unfortunately, there is too much pressure on people to be perfect...you should know that by now." His eyes glinted with mischief as he knew that Erik would never react badly to something he said.

Erik smiled. Gustave was right, as always. Even though Gustave was less than a decade older than him, Erik always felt that he was being nurtured under the protective wing of an older brother.

When the day finally came that Erik decided to move to the city and leave this sleepy village to it's own devices, Gustave was extremely reluctant to let him go.

"Erik, please, remember how distressing you find large crowds. The attention of those people will do nothing but enrage you!"

Erik arched his eyebrow at his friend's protestation.

"After years of being under the scrutiny of others, I think I know how to handle myself." Erik's tone was cold. He was tired of living in a cranking, old village and wanted to stretch his wings.

"Fine." Gustave stuck his chin out defiantly. "On your head be it."

That was the last word spoken between the two men. Erik rose from his chair and disappeared into the night.

Time and time again Erik scolded himself for being so harsh to his greatest friend. He eventually came to the decision that he would return and make his apologies to Gustave and prayed that he still lived in the same chocolate-box cottage.

Gustave lived on the very outskirts of the settlement. Here he could practice the violin all day long and not get any complaints from the neighbours. Erik managed the walk in next to no time, thanks to his long, muscular legs.

Walking up the garden path he noticed something was missing. No violin music. Of course, Gustave could have been taking a break but Erik felt on edge. He hesitated as he continued down the path and on reaching the door he was almost reluctant to knock.

He was right. Something was wrong. A woman who looked to be in her mid 30s opened the door.

"Y-" She froze. The sight of the masked stranger looming in the doorway stopped her in her tracks.

"My apologies, I was wondering if Monsieur Daae..."

"Monsieur Daae moved some months ago. He took the young child with him." She motioned to close the door, obviously frightened by Erik's appearance but he threw his hand up and pushed gently on the wood to prevent it from slamming in his face.

"Please...the child? When I last saw him he had..."

"Then you must have not seen him for a considerable time, monsieur." He was beginning to get tired of her interruptions. "Monsieur Daae married a young woman, roughly five years ago but when she fell pregnant with their first child there were some complications. Madame Daae died in child birth." The last part of her explanation came in a softer tone, she was obviously trying to be respectful to the dead.

Erik was shocked. Not only had Gustave married, and fathered a child in the time since their last meeting but he had also suffered significant loss. He wondered if Gustave had changed and if he still played the violin.

"The child must be about two or three. Now, if you'll excuse me monsieur..."

"Wait!" Erik's desperation was beginning to show. "Is there any sign or indication of where they might have gone?"

The woman shook her head slowly which made her black curls swing softly from side to side.

"I'm afraid not." And with that, she shut the door.

Erik turned from the door and rubbed the exposed side of his face. He had no idea where to go next but he knew that he had to find them.


	3. Chapter 3

It was getting dark. Erik had been relying on being able to stay with Gustave for the night and therefore didn't have any where to stay. He had money on him but a village as small and as isolated as this had no inn. He had no desire to knock on the doors of strangers, he might be temporarily homeless but that did not mean he had to become a beggar.

Erik's sharp eyes began to scan the surrounding environment and there he saw it. The church.

In the years he had lived in this village he had never stepped across the threshold but now...he had no choice.

As he started his reluctant walk to the lumbering monument, he felt a drop of ice-cold water run down the nape of his neck. He shivered and turned his collar up against the foreboding sky. Surely this was an omen against straying into the house of God?

Gustave, being a religious man, had always encouraged him to visit church.

"It will cleanse your soul, Erik." He protested. "You're telling me that you do not wish to be accepted into the gates of heaven?"

Erik smirked. He had never taken mass since he was ten years old.

"Men such as you should look to finding heaven on Earth. There is no chance of that for a creature like me so I implore you to seize the chance while you can."

"The Lord loves all men. He will see past the deformity you were born..."

"If _the Lord_ loved me then why did he give me this hideous face in the first place?" He felt the cool rush of twenty five years of repressed bitterness begin to flow over him. Erik turned his back to Gustave so he wouldn't see the emotion that had begin to boil up inside him.

"Those that do not try for themselves will not be helped along the way." With that Gustave grabbed his umbrella from the stand, opened the door and strode away.

Erik slipped in patch of mud, lost in his thoughts. He steadied himself. It was not like him to lose his balance...he really must be distracted with thought of Gustave and his daughter.

As he reached the gate of the old churchyard he peered around at the graves. The dead did not frighten him, well, it would be rather ironic for a man with a head of death to be frightened by his kin-folk.

He slipped silently through the graves, occasionally grazing his fingers along the top of a headstone and watched as the hard surface pulled against is finger tips.

Reaching the giant, oak door he felt a jolt of nerves spike through his stomach but he quickly laughed it off.

What did he think was going to happen to him? Was the ground going to open up and drag him to hell? Well he was already there. This was ridiculous, he knew he had no place here. A creature of the shadows walking in a place where people prayed to the light.

Behind him there was a quiet shuffling of footsteps on the stone floor. It would have been inaudible to any normal person but Erik was far from ordinary. He did not turn to face the footsteps as he already knew who they would belong to and the next utterance confirmed it.

"Can I help you, my child?"

Erik tensed and turned slowly. A small, white haired man was standing with his hands clutched together at the other end of the aisle.

"Forgive the intrusion, I was looking for somewhere to get out of the rain."

"There is no intrusion here. Everyone is welcome in the house of the Lord." Erik bit his lip to prevent a burst of laughter.

"Come," the priest gestured to the door behind him, "you are soaked through to the skin."

Before Erik could stiffen into his cold persona, he found himself following the old man. A lamb to the slaughter. Obviously the religious ideals his mother had engraved into him still had some pull on him today.

Erik shuddered as the oak door to the vestry slammed shut behind him.

"Please, sit." The priest smiled gently at him.

Something twisted inside of Erik as he noticed how plump and comfortable the priest looked. This village was not as thriving as it once was and the recent weather had significantly worsened the crop yield. There were children out on the street starving while this priest and some of his wealthier sheep sat upon their hill, preaching about the goodness of charitable actions. A bitter smirk wiped across his face as he straightened his jacket before sitting.

"I can see by your attire that you are not a typical villager...at least, I hope you are not as I have never seen you at mass."

Erik stiffened in his chair and began to dig his nails into the arm rests.

"I see God awards you a keen eye. You could say, Father, that I am not exactly a religious man." He took the glass of wine that was offered to him.

"So, what is a "not exactly religious" man doing in a church?"

"Forgive me, I believe I explained that-"  
"A man that is simply hiding from the rain does not hide his face. What is the sin that you have committed upon this night? Theft?"

Erik felt his insides begin to boil in anger.

"The only sin I have committed to warrant hiding my face, _Father_, is to be born with a deformity. Or perhaps that is not a sin of mine and maybe there is some kind of heavenly intervention leaving me with such a hideous burden."

"Child, I did not know."

"It matters not." Erik snapped. "And please, I am a full grown man and would appreciate if you did not address me as a child." With that he swallowed the last of his wine and loudly put his glass back on the table but without enough force to smash it.

"I can see that you have had a life of trouble and grief, Mr..."

"Destler."

"Mr Destler. I would like to think that there is some way I can help."

"I do not need the light of God to show me the way, thank you."

"The light of God no but perhaps an understanding, ear that is willing to listen to all your grievances without judging you may be of some assistance. I cannot claim to be the most educated man but I think that my years of experience in listening and caring may give me some hope?"

Erik began to stir in his chair. He did not like sharing his emotions with anyone and had not done so since he last saw Gustave. The stories of deceit, lies and the overwhelming depravity of the human soul began to whirl, relentlessly around his head. He swallowed the lump that was beginning to form in his throat and opened his mouth to tell his tail.

Some time later he straightened his back, signifying the end of his story. The priest copied his movement and Erik could see that his eyes were glinting with tears in the candlelight.

"I..." The priest began but was stopped by Erik holding his hand up in protest.

"Please, you do not need to try and come up with some meaningful response. The fact that you were willing to listen was enough." This time his smile was tinged with genuine warmth.

"You mentioned in passing that you are something of a musician. What do you play?"

"Anything that comes to hand but if I have the choice then the organ."

The priest smiled and nodded towards the door.

"If you please...it would be an honour to hear you play."

Erik was once again lead out of the room by the little priest and was directed over to a wooden bench that sat in front of a wall of pipes. His heart danced in his chest as if he was a young man seeing his lover after a six month absence. Music was his soul, his love, his passion and his tormentor all in one.

His cloak swept along the great stone floor as he skipped across to the organ. What a happy little lamb he was. Sitting with weighted legs he glanced, almost nervously back at the priest who was smiling encouragingly.

The dust sat in a blanket across the instrument and he was aware that it probably had not been tuned in the last hundred years but he did not care. He began to play and a sumptuous melody spread through his hands and up, soaring through the pipes.

_Home at last._ He thought.


	4. Chapter 4

The priest let out a small cough that would have been inaudible to a normal human but as he had been told time and time again by his mother and those that were meant to love him, Erik was no ordinary human.

He stopped playing and turned to where the priest was standing.

"I apologise. I tend to get carried away and lost in the music." One of his skeletal fingertips gently stroked over a key.

"That's quite alright," smiled the priest. "You are a talented musician. Have you ever considered playing for the community at a Sunday mass?"

Erik did his best to turn his head away and hide the snort of laughter that erupted from him.

"Somehow I don't think I'd be entirely welcome." He explained, indicating to his mask.

"Oh, I see." He looked down at his feet, embarrassed. "Well if you do ever feel the desire to play for us then I will do my upmost to make sure you are welcomed."

Erik stood, his cloak falling around him.

"Thank you, father. If you will excuse me I must be on my way." He began to move swiftly towards the large oak doors, desiring to put this whole odd experience behind him.

"But it's still raining!" The priest called down the aisle and Erik looked to a large stained glass window, depicting the virgin Mary cradling her infant son. Large raindrops were splattering against the glass and one rolled gently down the mother's cheek...perhaps she was predicting her child's fate.

"I'll survive," Erik called back. "_I always do_," he added bitterly in his head.

The rain bit at his exposed cheek as he scanned the graveyard for any signs of life. It was an old habit he had picked up from the years of curious people popping out from nowhere and asking him why he was wearing a mask.

As soon as he saw that the only people present were six feet under ground he continued down the path, relishing in the atmosphere of death.

Suddenly, he stopped as he heard a noise behind him. Somethin primal in him feared turning around in case he came face to face with a ghost. He then remembered that ghosts only exhisted in operas and he turned quickly on his heel. Nothing. He must have imagined it.

He turned back in his desired direction and put his foot out to take another step. _CRACK! _Something large, heavy and blunt hit him round the back of the head and he dropped onto the floor. An image of a man's face swam in front of his eyes before he blacked out completely.


	5. Chapter 5

Erik's head was screaming. He instinctively reached up and gingerly touched the back of it, no blood. Wait...why wasn't he wearing his wig? His hand moved sharply to his face and a twist of anguish echoed through him. No mask.

His groan rang out as he blinked repeatedly to clear the fuzzy haze of concussion.

The room was coldly decorated with a few basic chairs arranged as if to seat a small audience. Erik was confused...where was he and why was he on display? He had experienced this before, in the hands of the perverted freak show owner who Erik had killed in a plea for escape.

Erik's eyes focused on the walls of his prison, they were crudely plastered and white washed. This was like no other performance venue he had ever been forced to endure.

He tried to swing a leg over the edge of the cold, hard table on which he'd been left but he found it was impossible. His legs were chained to the table.

"What the hell is going on here?!" He snapped sharply to himself.

His train of thought was interrupted by a loud noise at the top of the flight of stairs that was leading down into this pit.

"Hello?" He called out.

No answer, just silence again.

"Hello?!" He asked again, and again he was greeted by silence.

Just as he turned his face from the light coming through the crack underneath the door, there was the sound of voices coming from the other side and suddenly the door swung open on it's creaking hinges.

"Gentleman, if you'd care to lower your voices. We do not wish to wake the specimen?

_Specimen...what specimen? _

Erik glanced around the room until realisation slapped him across the face. He was the specimen.

He watched as the feet of several men started appearing at the top of the steps, quickly followed by the hem of their white lab coats.

"The specimen has been heavily sedated and constricted to the table for his own safety of course. Who knows what kind of twisted and backwards mind a deformed monster like him has."

A twist of anger contorts Erik's soul. How dare they speak of him in such a way!

He waits until the gaggle of doctors edge closer and closer until he sits up as far as possible and watches as the mouths drop in perfect synchonism.

"Excuse me," he fakes a chuckle. "I see to have gotten myself tangled up in these chains here! I mean I'm sure learned men such as yourselves would not dream of restraining a man without having any lawful reason to."

"I-um..." The man that had been leading the group was now suddenly a great degree quieter.

"Oh, my dear fellow I'm sure it was just some kind of misunderstanding. Perhaps you confused me with some wild beast."

The doctors look awkwardly from one to another, not sure of how to deal with the situation at hand and then one turns to another and whispers something.

"Please accept our sincerest apologies, Monsieur. We believed that you were going to be a crazed mad man."

"Because of my face." Erik adds and the doctors shuffle their feet.

"Get someone to unchain this man." The superior doctor orders one of the youngest who is lingering at the back.

The young doctor quickly ran up the stairs only to return with what looks like a security guard with a large set of keys.

Erik watched intensely as the man started to warily unlock the chains around his ankles.

"Can I just reiterate how sorry we are." Erik shrugged pretending that it was of no bother to him although they would certainly feel his wrath when he was free.

"Be careful." Erik snapped as the guard twisted the metal wrapped around his sore, rubbed ankle.

Distracted with by the man's fumbling Erik did not notice the doctor removing a needle from his pocket, nor did he notice the doctor approach him steadily and it was only when the doctor plunged the needle into Erik's throat did he notice the man's proximity, the concussion had dulled his usually sharp senses.

Erik's head swam immediately as the doctor pushed down the syringe, he swang an arm to make an attempt to knock the man away but his strength was rapidly draining from his body.

"So very sorry, _Monsieur._" Was the last thing Erik heard before the drugs seeped into his brain and sent him tumbling back into his previous unconscious state.

"Make sure the freak is restrained properly this time," the head doctor snapped at the guard before turning to the group. "Gentleman, if you would be so kind as to keep this..._thing's_ ability to communicate from the research funding board then I would be very grateful. They seem to think if an individual can hold a conversation it makes it somehow unethical to study them."


	6. Chapter 6

"Eeeeeerik. Eeeeeeeerik." The voice sang.

His thoughts were churning in his head, distant memories shining into focus and then fracturing into shards as quickly as they were appearing.

A beautiful girl, young and distraught, running from something...running from the monster. She ran too far...far too far. She falls, tumbles over the edge of the roof terrace. He runs down into the courtyard but she has changed, she has turned into a shattered mirror. She reflects the hideous face he first saw as a young child.

"Erik!" His mother's voice snaps, he is young again and in trouble.

"You mustn't ask me for that ever again." She turns her head, disgusted with him.

"But...I only asked for a kiss. It is my birthday." The childish image of Erik tugged at his shirt.

"Birthday or not I will not tolerate such insolence! Now go to your room."

He is sent away without supper let alone presents on the day that is meant to celebrate his existence. His mother doesn't want to remember the night she brought such a creature into the world.

The images flick through his mind, distress obliterating his soul as time and time again he is shown fleeing anger, hatred and ignorance.

His life was a never ending torrent of hardship and difficulty, the only warmth and affection he had truly felt came from his friend. Gustave.

Gustave hadn't received the greatest education in the world, his family were not rich and he had worked hard for everything he had. Erik missed him as though he had missed his arm. His mother had never had any more children out of both widowship and the anxiety of bringing another child like Erik into the world so Gustave was the closest thing to a brother Erik had ever known.

Erik was prevented from sinking further into reminiscing about the happy times he had spent with Gustave by a swift and painful slap across the face. The deformed side of his face was more sensitve than the other so the pain rips him from his drug-induced sleep.

"Arghhh." He groaned, finding that his tongue is unable to form meaningful words.

"As you can see, the specimen is unable to talk. A clear sign that he has suffered mental retardation as a result of the same birth defects that have caused the facial deformity."

Erik incomprehensibly gurgled again.

"The specimen was taken care of by a charitable benefactor but had to be handed over to us after he violently acted the benefactor's young grandchild," a shocked gasp from the small audience rained out. "It's quite alright. We have made sure that the specimen is properly secured. For his own safety as much as our own, of course."

_"Lies. All of it! A pack of lies to make it seem as though what they are doing is the right thing." _Erik's mind was still reeling but the anger punched through.

He presumed that the audience sitting around him was predominantly made up of the aforementioned research funding board and that was why he was being made out to be a violent loonatic.

_"If only they knew."_ He thought bitterly.

"We plan to run a range of experiments to test his cognitive abilities but we can be fairly sure that they will all result in the conclusion that his dysfunctional mental processes cannot be helped or cured."

_"He'll die first."_

"So I would like to think that now you have seen that the specimen is incapable of looking after himself I hope that you make the decision to fund our research. Without your contribution there is no way that the hospital can afford to keep him here."

The audience's chairs began to shuffle as they got to their seats and moved out of the room. When they were all gone, the doctor in charge of Erik's research case remained in the room.

"You performed well. I suggest you behave yourself in this manner from now on."

"Arghhh." Erik groaned, trying to move his heavy arms.

"I'm afraid I can't understand you." He smiled sickeningly, leaning closer and closer into Erik's face.

Erik rolled his eyes towards him, hoping that he was conveying how much he hated the man through his stare.

"Well, if you don't mind I have important business to attend to. There are a few chemical companies that require a..._willing_ participant to take part in a few drug trials. I think I know just the man for the job."

_"I will make you suffer. I swear to God, I will make you pay for what you have done." _Of course, Erik didn't believe in God but in his blinding rage he would have sworn on the sun, moon and stars that he would, one day, take his revenge.


End file.
